


Slice of Life

by AVegetarianCannibal



Series: Slice of Life [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Domestic smut, Flirting, Frottage, Kissing, Kitchen Sex, Laundry, M/M, Missionary Position, Oral Sex, Romance, Sassy Will Graham, Sexual Frustration, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, So much kissing, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba, cooking lessons lead to sex, laundry leads to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13377942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: It's time to take a look into the life that Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter now share, from cooking together to doing the laundry to taking walks in the balmy Havana evenings. Somehow, most of these things lead to the bedroom.





	Slice of Life

**Author's Note:**

> For @shukkhy on Tumblr

**Coming to Havana**

Will wonders if Hannibal has been saving himself, in a manner of speaking.

They're currently at a small cafe in Mérida on the tip of the Yucatán that juts northward into the Gulf. The night previous, they shared a hotel room, just as they have been sharing hotel rooms and motel rooms for the past three months, and even sharing beds and one time a narrow berth that required them to lie on their sides, belly to back. In all instances, Hannibal's attentions have never been anything but perfectly chaste. His touches and gazes are warm and fond, sometimes excruciatingly tender when he changes a bandage for Will, but they never go past that.

So Will wonders if Hannibal has set some restriction for himself. Perhaps he's been waiting until they are safe--- _really_ safe---before taking any physically amorous step. He can't imagine any other reason for such persistently monk-like chastity. He has imagined many things in his life, but he _knows_ he didn't imagine Bedelia confirming Hannibal was in love with him. He _knows_ he didn't imagine all the voraciously heated looks for years before that.

Will drinks his coffee and watches Hannibal reading the local paper. He is so tan already, to the point of being a bit burned on the bridge of his nose and points of his cheeks. His hair is longer now than when they first met and a kind of translucent silver that looks gold in the sun.

"Anything good in the news?" he asks so he has something to do besides stare like a schoolboy.

"Did you know the city is nearly 500 years old?" Hannibal asks. "There's a celebration every January for the founding. I'd love to take you to the parties, but we'll be in Havana by then, unfortunately."

"We can celebrate in Havana," Will says. He drops his voice to a suggestive rumble. "In our own special way, of course."

Hannibal gives him a bright but painfully oblivious smile. "Any way you wish, Will."

Will sighs, because what he's wishing for seems less and less likely to happen.

****

Thanks to Hannibal's meticulous planning, their villa in Havana is ready for them when they arrive.

It's surprisingly modest, and certainly no architectural prize, but it's quiet for being near a busy street thanks to the metal and brick wall that surrounds the property. Flowers grow all up and down the wall that would never even think of growing in a Maryland winter outside of a greenhouse, and they perfume the air with a heady sweetness.

Will picks one of the flowers and tucks it behind Hannibal's ear.

"I could stand for you to wear only that," Will says, letting his hand linger on Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal gives a light laugh. "I suppose this last leg of our trip _has_ left me in need of a change of clothes and shower. Shall we meet for dinner downstairs in an hour?"

Will sighs, defeated. "Yeah. Sure."

****

Will is in the middle of unpacking the few belongings he has when Hannibal gets out of the shower. He stands in the middle of the bedroom, toweling his hair, otherwise completely naked and gleaming wet before he notices he's not alone. Will almost starts panting like a cartoon dog.

"Oh," says Hannibal, glancing at the armoire, in front of which Will is currently trying not to die. "I thought you'd put your things in your own bedroom."

"My own...?" Will looks around for a second before he understands what Hannibal meant. "We're not sharing?"

"I thought you might like to finally have your own room, your own bed," Hannibal says. "You know how little I sleep. My getting up and down will bother you less."

Will wants to scream, "It's not a bother! I want you to get up and go down... on me!" Instead he just smiles weakly and gathers up his shirts, then retreats down the hall to the other room.

****

He's well into his second tumbler of incredibly strong liquid courage by the time Hannibal makes his way downstairs to the kitchen.

Hannibal flashes him a smile as he pulls out pots and pans. "What are you in the mood for?"

"You," Will says. He downs the last of the glass in one gulp. "I... am in the mood... for _you..._ and _me_."

Hannibal pauses at the fridge. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

He stalks his way across the kitchen, fixing Hannibal with the sultriest look of intent he can muster. He snatches a pan out of Hannibal's hand and tosses it without care onto the stove, then bodily backs him up against the tile counter.

"I _want_ ," he says, "for you and me to do what we should have been doing together long ago."

Hannibal licks his lips and swallows audibly. "We... we can't. Will, we can't."

Will lets out a growl of frustration and flings himself away from Hannibal. "I feel like we're just treading water!"

Hannibal tugs him back over. "It's simply not safe right now. It's too soon. What if Jack Crawford finds out?"

Will's brain almost oozes out of his ears as he instantly and unwillingly pictures Jack Crawford bursting through the door just as he's languidly wrapping his legs around Hannibal's waist.

"H-how would Jack find out?" Will asks, as confused as he's ever been in his entire life. "And why would it even matter!"

"If we're sloppy," Hannibal says. "We could leave behind evidence."

Will backs up so he can properly gawp at him. "In our own home?!"

"We shouldn't kill in our own home," Hannibal says.

Will blinks, dumbfounded. Then he laughs. He laughs and laughs until he almost regurgitates the whiskey he’s just drunk. He feels tears springing to his eyes, but he's laughing so hard that he can't even properly wipe them away. He just sort of... bats at his own face while he doubles over and tries to get his wits about him again.

When he manages to look up at Hannibal, he sees quite a face of concern awaiting him.

"We're having two entirely different conversations," Will explains.

"What conversation am I having?" Hannibal asks.

"One about killing people together," Will says.

Hannibal considers that for a moment. "And what conversation are you having?"

"One about this," he says, and reaches down to unzip Hannibal's trousers.

"Oh," Hannibal gasps.

"Yeah, _oh_ ," Will says, and gets started on the buttons.

 

* * *

**Coming _in_ Havana**

 

Will all but drags Hannibal up the stairs and into the bedroom. They're both trailing their shed clothes behind them, molting down to complete nudity by the time they get to the bed. The last thing that goes is Will's underwear, balled up and thrown across the room.

"Messy," Hannibal breathes between kisses. His tone is teasing.

"It's your own fault," Will teases back at him. "If you hadn't kept me waiting to the point of exploding, maybe I would have taken the time to be tidy."

Will hops backwards onto the bed and scoots back on his ass to give Hannibal room to join him.

"I simply had no idea," Hannibal says, crawling over him to straddle his thighs. "I promise you, if I'd known sooner I would have obliged sooner."

Part of Will boggles at that, but the rest of him is too busy taking in the view that's finally--- _finally!!_ \---in front of him. And on top of him. Seeing him naked after a shower is one thing, but seeing him like this is another entirely. He is bare and waiting, already aroused to hardness, and they are both, at last, having the same conversation.

Will rakes his fingers over Hannibal's thighs, which jump a little at his touch as if sparked by electricity. He's still incredibly strong even after years of caging; Will can feel that strength coiled under his skin like a spring under pressure. It's not just strength, though, he realizes. He sees himself---sees this moment---through Hannibal's eyes.

The sense of urgency goes out of him then. He feels it disperse a fog.

"Come here," he says, tilting up his head to show Hannibal what he wants.

Hannibal leans forward, his body a cage around Will, and touches their lips together. "Like this?" he asks.

"Like this," Will says, tugging him down the rest of the way so the length of their bodies slot together.

He takes his time kissing the entirety of Hannibal's face, from the perpetual mystery of his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose, to each of his cheekbones in turn and finally to the fine longbow that is his upper lip. All the while, he strokes his fingers through Hannibal's hair from the inquisitive arch of his forehead to the corded nape of his neck.

Will lets Hannibal take hold of his wrists and arrange them behind his head. He is stretched out this way, the lines of his arms slightly taut. He feels as though he's been laid out like a feast. Hannibal noses all along the inside of his upper arm, across his armpit and follows his collar bone with the tenderest bites. He kisses under Will's jaw, takes a deep breath, and sighs with apparent contentment.

"Ah, I'll never tire of the smell of you."

"What about the feel of me?" He wriggles a bit for punctuation.

"I'm still convincing myself that's real."

He nudges Hannibal over until they're both on their sides, facing each other. "Does this feel real?" He drapes a leg over Hannibal's hip and pulls him close. "How about this?" He shifts a little and reaches down between their bodies to stroke their erections together. The silky warmth of Hannibal's foreskin sliding against his bare cock is like nothing he's ever felt before. He strokes faster.

Hannibal gasps. "I won't last---and I'd dearly like to last---but--- _ah!_ "

"Where are my pants?" Will asks, sitting up a bit.

Hannibal looks heartbroken. "You're not getting dressed, are you?"

"No, I just need---"

He reaches over the side of the bed and finds his pants on the floor where he left them. There, tucked into one of the front pocket, is what he's looking for. He holds it up in triumph.

Hannibal's brows go up at the sight of the small bottle of lubricant. "You came prepared."

"I've been prepared since before we left Georgia," Will says. He scoots back into position on the bed. "Remember when I disappeared for an hour and you thought I'd left for good? I was stealing this from a drugstore."

"You committed a crime for me," Hannibal says.

"I've committed many crimes for you," Will says. He gets a pillow under his ass and tosses the bottle to Hannibal. "But that one was at least as much for me."

Hannibal flips open the bottle cap but almost misses his fingers because apparently all his attention is on Will. Will feels that gaze on his body perhaps even more intimately than touch. It reminds him why he was so drawn to Hannibal even at the start, how it felt being seen for the first time down to the true essence of himself...

Currently, Will feels two things at once: Hannibal kissing the inside of his thigh and carefully nudging the tip of one slick finger into him. He lets out a greedy moan and digs his heels into the mattress.

Hannibal's mouth moves higher up his leg, until he's placing little sucking kisses to the crook of his thigh. Will lets his legs fall further open, giving Hannibal all possible access, and is rewarded with a deep sigh against his skin. By now he's so hard and so needy for contact that even the air feels like a solid thing against him, and he helplessly ruts up into it.

Hannibal lays his forearm across his belly, right where the scar is, and holds him still. Another finger goes in, and crooks upward as it strokes.

Will thinks he might be seeing stars, but then Hannibal's talented mouth sucks him down in one swift, easy slide, and now he _knows_ he's seeing stars.

" _Nngh!_ "

He's sure this has to be the most searingly hot thing he's ever lived through, hotter than any fever or fire, and he's dimly aware that there's a third finger inside him now. Hannibal's thumb massages his perineum.

He has to reach down and take hold of his own cock, and squeeze until it almost hurts to stop himself from spilling then and there. He almost comes anyway when he sees what Hannibal looks like with his mouth full.

"In me, _now_ ," he pants, meeting Hannibal's eyes. The sense of urgency he thought he put behind him? Back at full force.

Hannibal pulls off with a wet slurp and digs around in the covers until he finds the little bottle. He slicks himself from tip to root before getting into a splayed position on his knees between Will's thighs.

"Are you ready?"

"I've been ready since---"

"---Georgia?"

"At the very least!"

He _finally_ gets what he's been wanting, and if he'd known it would be like this... well, he probably would have expired just from the wanting. Hannibal is well-endowed, to say the least, and maybe a minute more with the three fingers would have been advisable, but he can't even think of telling Hannibal to wait. It's good, it's _so good_ , the shocking stretch and pressure slowly building as Hannibal takes his time sinking into him. He hears himself whispering "yes" and "more" over and over, interspersed with Hannibal's name. The only other sound in the world is Hannibal's trembling breath.

Will holds out his arms. "Come to me, like this, come to me..."

Hannibal leans forward until they are pressed belly to belly and cheek to cheek. Will gets his legs up around Hannibal's waist and his arms around his neck. They stay together like that for several moments, without moving, and Will can feel someone's heartbeat but he can't tell if it's his. His old words come back to him, though he keeps them to himself this time: " _You and I are are conjoined_." He's not sure where he stops being _him_.

When Hannibal pulls out only to rock back into him, Will feels like every neuron in his brain and body has lit up. It's like an explosion, a chain reaction that somehow his skin is just managing to contain. He gasps every time Hannibal pushes into him without breathing out in between. He feels lightheaded.

Hannibal moves just enough so they're looking at each other eye to eye. The sight of him, of his adoring expression, helps Will find himself again. He slides his hands up to hold Hannibal's face and exhale his name between his parted lips.

They stay just like that, looking at each other, even as Hannibal's movements quicken and Will feels himself pressed harder and harder into the bed beneath him.

"Will, I'm... I'm... _ah_ \---"

"Yes, I want it," he says, understanding Hannibal's meaning.

And Hannibal understands him just as well, because a few shuddering thrusts later, Will feels the liquid heat spilling inside him, and everything is so slick and easy now, and he tilts up his hips to catch every drop.

Hannibal keeps going, although his movements are languid now, and Will feels one hand slip from his face to reach between their bodies. It takes only a few strokes of Hannibal's talented fingers to bring him to orgasm. He instinctively finds Hannibal's mouth with his own and kisses him until he manages to catch his breath again.

"This is _our_ bedroom," he says. "Just by the way. None of this sleeping in different bedrooms crap."

"Of course," Hannibal says. "I would never dream otherwise."

He rolls over and pulls Will against his chest. Dinner goes forgotten for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

**Clarity in the Afterglow**

 

He's just drifting off to sleep, feeling pleasantly sore and more than a little sticky, when he remembers he was in the middle of being boggled by Hannibal's obtuseness before he got distracted by Hannibal's naked body.

"You asleep yet?" he asks, although he already knows the answer, since Hannibal's chest is under his cheek and he can feel the wakeful pattern of his breathing.

"Mm." It's a delightful and satisfied rumble in his ear.

"How in the hell did you not realize I wanted this?" he asks.

Hannibal snorts softly. "You didn't really give me any indication, Will."

Will lifts his head up a bit so he can judge Hannibal's expression and sees no irony in his drowsy expression. He really and truly and _absolutely_ incomprehensibly had no idea. The smartest man he's ever known... had no idea.

"I-I've been flirting with you nonstop for three months," Will says.

"You've been flirting with me nonstop for five _years_ ," Hannibal says. Then he corrects himself: "I suppose there were stops when we were apart, but other than that? You were an incorrigible and _constant_ flirt."

Will reaches out to tweak one of Hannibal's nipples, and considers tweaking the other. "I was not!"

"Incorrigible," Hannibal repeats, absently rubbing the offended nipple.

Oh now he's in for it. Now he's _really_ done it.

Will sits up and tweaks the other nipple even harder. Hannibal laughs and starts to curl into a defensive position like an armadillo, but Will flattens him back out and straddles his belly. He reaches under his thigh for Hannibal's waist and pokes his fingers in for a hearty squeeze.

Hannibal laughs again and nearly manages to buck him off. "Will!"

"Name _one_ time I flirted with you," Will says. "At the beginning, I mean. I admit I flirted with you a bit later on."

"The way you looked me right in the eyes to show you didn't like eye contact," Hannibal says. "And then there was the way you met me at your motel room door in your underthings."

Will reaches down for another tickle, but Hannibal catches his hand. "I thought you were Jack!"

Hannibal, wide-eyed, looks comically scandalized. "So you'd planned to seduce _Jack Crawford_ in your underthings? Unprofessional in the extreme."

"I wasn't planning to seduce anyone!" Will protests. "And anyway, if I was such a flirt for so long that just makes it even _more_ inexplicable that you didn't realize I wanted you in my bed."

Hannibal sits up, holding Will in his lap. "But don't you see? I'd come to accept that's simply how you are. You flirt with everyone. Alana Bloom told me so, not long after you and I met."

Will blinks. "Alana told you I flirt with everyone?"

"Not in those words," Hannibal says. "But she did compare your flirting techniques to mine. Apparently we both flirt to get what we want."

Will thinks back to just a few hours earlier. "And today, when I told you I wanted to see you in a flower and nothing else...?"

Hannibal shrugs. "I thought you were politely telling me I needed to get out of my travel-soiled clothes."

"I've never been polite and you know it!" He tweaks both Hannibal's nipples at once.

This earns him a lunge from Hannibal, accompanied by something like a bear hug that ends with him being flipped onto his back and pinned by his wrists to the bed. Hannibal attacks his throat and chest with a mix of kisses and laughter.

He's already getting hard again and it's clouding his ability to think. He wants to rub himself against Hannibal's inner thigh. It's so warm and beautifully muscled... What were they talking about anyway?

"Haaannibal," Will says, wriggling out from under him. "We're not done."

"I'm aware of that," Hannibal says. "That's why I'm trying to finish."

"We're not done talking," Will clarifies.

Hannibal sits up and adopts a Very Serious Look. "All right. How does that make you feel?" He smooths back his hair. Except for the complete nudity and the come drying on his belly hair, he looks every bit the professional therapist.

Will rolls his eyes and ignores the question. "You didn't notice all the times you woke up with my hard-on in your back?"

"Of course I noticed," Hannibal says. "It's exceedingly common to experience erections throughout the night and into morning, though."

"But in your _back_ \---"

"We were in very tight quarters much of the time---"

"Oh my God! It wasn't REM sleep or a full bladder! It wasn't the tight quarters! It was your tight ass!"

"I'm aware of that now," Hannibal says.

"And all I had to do was put my hand down your pants," Will says.

Hannibal shrugs. "It did drive the point home."

Will shakes his head, laughing to himself. "I should have done it in Georgia, then."

"If not earlier," Hannibal agrees. "But you must understand, Will, that I was content. If we had simply spent the rest of our lives no closer than the opposite ends of the same room, I would have been content to watch you reading books or tinkering with boat engines."

His expression takes on that same impossibly tender fondness that Will remembers from the days when they were changing each other's bandages.

Will reaches out to rumple up his hair and then pulls him back down on top of himself. "Will you be content with this?" he asks.

"More than," Hannibal says. "And what about you, now that you've finally seduced me?"

Will tilts his head up so that he's whispering against the shell of Hannibal's ear. "Oh I plan to just keep right on seducing you," he says. "Every day from now on."

He snakes his hand down between Hannibal's legs and gives an encouraging squeeze, just to drive the point home.

 

* * *

**The Ongoing Seduction of Hannibal Lecter**

 

The first time he tries to cook dinner for them both, he ends up burning it. Badly. The roux turns nearly as black as the cast iron pot he's using to make it. The kitchen fills with smoke. Butter, which smells magical when browned, is acrid enough to choke a man just a few levels beyond that.

In his defense, he was distracted by watching Hannibal prepare the shrimp. It shouldn't be a turn-on to watch someone peel and de-vein a bowl of shellfish, but Hannibal has the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his biceps and the tendons stand out in his wrists with every flick of the knife...

Hannibal leaps into action, forsaking the shrimp to take over Will's spot at the stove.

Will mutters curses and apologies, but Hannibal just smiles at him.

"We have other pots," Hannibal says. "And plenty of butter to try again."

Will makes himself useful by opening up the windows and doors and aiming the box fans at them.

"You sure you _want_ me to try again?" he asks.

"Sometimes one just has to get used to a new stove," Hannibal says.

"We could get takeout," Will suggests.

Hannibal's faces twitches ever so slightly.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," Will says. "Fine. I'll try again but you have to help me with the roux."

He's made etouffee a dozen times without a glitch. He damned well knows how to make a competent roux, but he's not really in the mood to cook anymore.

Hannibal has him take the butter out of the fridge and add it to a clean pot with the flame just barely licking out from under the edges. Once it melts and begins to bubble, he reaches for the canister of flour.

"Just sprinkle it in, lightly, over the butter," Hannibal says.

Will does as he's told, which is what he was going to do anyway, but he just asks, "Like this?"

"Exactly," Hannibal says. "Now keep your whisk moving, and make certain to reach the outer edges of the pot or it will clump and burn."

"You should show me," Will says.

"Do you want me to make the roux?" Hannibal asks. "You can take over the shrimp."

"I want you to _show_ me," Will says again. "Here, come stand behind me and put your hand on mine."

"How---"

"Move my hand the way you'd like me to move it," Will says. He glances over his shoulder just long enough to bat his eyelashes. "Come on. I want you to do it. I _need_ it."

Of course Hannibal knows what he's doing, but he plays along. Will makes a satisfied sound when he feels Hannibal moving into place behind him. The roux is a light gold when Hannibal's fingers cover his own. Will reaches down to take Hannibal's left hand and bring it around the front of his waist.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Mm," Hannibal says into his hair.

"I meant my whisking," Will says.

"It's perfect," Hannibal says, moving their hands together.

The roux darkens to a sandy rust color.

Will bumps his ass back a little bit and moves his hips. Even through both their trousers he can tell Hannibal is hard for him. He grinds his hips in earnest and moves Hannibal's hand down from his waist and laces their fingers together. He ruts against Hannibal's palm, not caring that the windows are still open and he's moaning loud enough for anybody who happened to be walking by the gate to hear him. Hannibal is quieter, but his movements are just as urgent.

They both come in their trousers just as the roux blackens to tar and smoke once again fills the small kitchen.

Half an hour later, Will puts on clean pants and goes to get takeout.

****

Sometimes his seductions are unintentional.

The dryer is broken and he's waiting to get a part so he can fix it, so he decides to hang the wet laundry on a line outside. It never occurs to him that this might be an alluring activity, and doesn't even know he's being watched until he suddenly finds himself snatched up in Hannibal's arms.

He laughs as his neck is covered with noisy kisses. "Hannibal, what on _earth_?"

"I couldn't resist," is the reply mumbled into the hollow of his throat. "You were like a siren calling to me."

"I was pinning towels to the clothesline," Will says. "There's _nothing_ sexy about that."

"You didn't see what I saw," Hannibal says. "The sun catching in your hair and your lashes... the bead of sweat running off your jaw like a drop of sea glass. I was enchanted. You enchanted me---to my ruin."

"Oh good Lord," Will laughs. He pries himself out of Hannibal's grasp and goes back to the laundry. "Help me with the rest of this and I'll ruin you properly in the bedroom."

They don't make it even halfway through the rest of the laundry. 

*****

Clothing---or sometimes the lack of it---figures into more than a few of his plays at seduction.

He has a habit of stripping and leaving his clothes where they fall when he's single-minded about getting Hannibal into bed. He knows that Hannibal is always happy to fall into bed with him whatever the circumstances, but he also knows that the neat freak in Hannibal must wince a little bit, even if it's just on the inside. Hannibal has made offhanded remarks about his messiness a time or two, in fact.

So he resolves to be just as tidy as can be.

One night after returning from a stroll around the neighborhood, Hannibal seems particularly amorous. Before they've even shut the gate, Will finds himself being kissed behind his ears with terms of endearment muttered in Italian and Lithuanian.

" _You're_ in a mood," he teases.

"I'm in _the_ mood," Hannibal corrects him. "You looked especially lovely in the glow of the streetlights tonight."

"You say that when it's candlelight," Will reminds him. "And the fluorescent overhead lights at the market, as I recall."

"And it's always true," Hannibal says. He paws at the buttons on Will's shirt.

Will makes a scolding noise. "You'll tear them."

"I'll sew them back on."

"You can wait."

Hannibal huffs in frustration, but follows him inside and up the stairs.

Will takes his time unbuttoning his shirt even though he's just as eager as Hannibal to get down to business. It will all be worthwhile in the end, he tells himself.

"Do you want me to take yours off for you?" he asks.

"Yes, please," Hannibal says, lifting up his chin.

With great care, Will loosens the knot of Hannibal's tan silk tie enough to slip the loop over his head. Hannibal goes in for a kiss, but Will ducks out of the way, determined to remain focused on his task. He drapes the tie over his arm, then undoes the button on Hannibal's jacket. The linen is still remarkably smooth, with slight wrinkles only at the inside of the elbows, so he hangs it up in the closet for another wear along with the tie.

When he returns, he finds Hannibal already out of his shoes, shirt, and waistcoat, which have been tossed carelessly onto the chair at the foot of the bed.

"And you complained about _me_ being messy," Will says, plucking up the waistcoat before it can wrinkle. He grabs the shirt, gives it a sniff at the armpits, and heads to the bathroom to deposit it into the hamper.

"Are you going to do this for all our clothes?" Hannibal asks. "And I didn't complain---I _remarked_."

Will calls to him from the bathroom. "You wear too many layers. It's your own doing!"

Upon returning to the bedroom again, he hooks a finger into the braided leather of Hannibal's belt and tugs him half a step closer.

"This is agony," Hannibal says.

Will can't hide the small smile that quirks his lips. "For a man who waited so many years for me, you sure are impatient."

Hannibal sighs. "Do what you must, then."

Will has to laugh at just how terribly put-upon Hannibal sounds. So dramatic. So very dramatic.

He goes to work on the buckle, cinching the belt tight with a jerk of his hand to free the prong. He snakes the strap out of the loops of Hannibal's waistband, one by one, looking up into Hannibal's eyes as he does so.

" _Agony_ ," Hannibal repeats with emphasis.

Will brushes his lips against Hannibal's in order to say, "I'm just doing what you wanted."

With that, he turns on his heel and goes to hang the belt in the closet.

He's surprised to find that Hannibal hasn't removed his trousers, but _not_ surprised to see a small wet spot next to the fly. He _has_ been keeping Hannibal in terrible suspense, after all.

"I suppose I have been a bit _hard_ on you," Will says. He finally removes Hannibal's trousers. "We'll have to send these to the cleaner, I suppose." He folds them and leaves them on the chair, then gets down on his knees for a closer inspection of the state of Hannibal's thin silk underwear. "I think these are ruined beyond hope, though."

"No, I think they---"

Will doesn't let Hannibal finish before yanking the underwear down with such force that the obscenely delicate fabric tears in his hands. Hannibal's erect and glossy wet cock bounces down and then up again with jaunty vigor. Will catches it between his lips.

"On second glance, I concur with your diagnosis," Hannibal says. Or at least that's Will _thinks_ he says. At least half of the sentence comes out in a strangled groan.

He gives Hannibal the slowest blow job he can bear to give, licking up the entire length from the base to the frenulum that looks so much like the identically named part of the tongue. He pays special attention to this little bit of flesh as he takes the head into his mouth, licking at it first his tongue broad and cupping it, then with the tip flicking at it as lightly as a moth's wings. He runs his hands up Hannibals legs from knees to hips, feels the subtle tremor in his muscles as he fights to remain upright.

Will, without letting Hannibal's cock drop from his mouth, nudges him backwards until he's braced against the side of the bed.

Hannibal pants for breath. "How... how many times... have I already used the word agony?"

Will hums a cadence of "I dunno," and it makes Hannibal groan again.

He relaxes his throat, tips his head forward, and sucks Hannibal down as far down as he can. 

He's content to kneel on the floor the rest of the night, licking and slurping until he has to shovel a boneless Hannibal up into bed, but it's the beginning of the end as soon as he flicks his gaze upward and makes eye contact. Hannibal gives a sharp little gasp, reaches down to cradle the back of his head, and comes with one hard thrust. Will keeps sucking him through every last pulse, drinks every last drop, all the while never looking away.

"Get on the bed," Hannibal says. He crawls in and gestures at him to follow. "Take off your trousers. Come here."

Will licks his lips and gets to his feet. "Let me go hang them up the closet." He undoes the button at his waist and slowly unbuckles his belt.

" _Will_."

"You can never complain about my mess again," Will says.

"Fine," Hannibal sighs. "Come here."

Will finally slips out of the rest of his clothes and climbs up into bed alongside Hannibal. It's a position not so different from one they once assumed while sharing a narrow bed on a boat. Except now he's not staring at the back of Hannibal's head willing him to roll over and see him. Now they're already face to face, and there's really no need to say anything for them to understand each other.

Hannibal presses their bodies together as they stretch out on their sides. He gives Will a fist to thrust into while they kiss as languidly as people who have the rest of eternity to do just this.

Will comes just before he falls asleep. His orgasm is no more than an afterthought to his satisfaction tonight. The last thing he's aware of before he drifts off is Hannibal licking his own hand clean.

 

* * *

**Leaving Havana**

 

Truthfully, he's always expected they would be recognized sooner or later. Hannibal especially is a pretty unique-looking guy, and it's not like they've really been hiding.

It's just that Will sort of thought it would be more likely to happen on one of the many, many occasions they couldn't keep their hands off each other. They somehow went undetected the time Will decided to go down on Hannibal at the opera while seated behind two Puccini buffs in a not-entirely-private box seat. Nobody noticed them any of the thousands of times they walked arm in arm through the open-air market. The coat check girl they paid off so they could dry-hump in the closet at an upscale restaurant apparently never said a peep about them.

Somehow, when they _are_ finally noticed, it is by an Italian tourist at a random antique shop that's really more of a thrift store. The old man grabs his wife's arm and frantically mutters something about "Il Mostro" while looking like he's on the verge of a heart attack. The wife shouts for the police, first in Italian and then in Spanish.

Will grabs Hannibal's hand and drags him out of there.

He wants to burst into a run, run as fast as he's ever moved in his life, but Hannibal holds on tight and forces him to walk at a brisk but inconspicuous pace.

"Do we have time to go by the house?" Will asks.

Hannibal glances at him. "Is there anything you can't live without?"

"I'm inordinately fond of that old cast iron pot," he says.

Hannibal squeezes his hand. "I have another waiting."

Of course Hannibal has made escape plans. Probably made them as soon as they got there eight months ago, if not before.

They switch taxis twice and then walk the last mile to the marina just to be safe. So far, Will has seen no sign that anybody is following them, policía or otherwise.

"I bought you a boat," Hannibal tells him. "It doesn't have sails, I'm afraid."

Will laughs. "Don't worry. I know how other boats operate, too."

Hannibal leads him past rows of immaculate yachts. Some of them have small pools on their decks. All of them are ostentatious, like white stretch limos of the sea. Will can't picture Hannibal _wanting_ anything like that, but perhaps it's part of some ocean-going disguise. Nobody would expect Hannibal Lecter to parade around on the aquatic equivalent of a McMansion, would they?

Much to his relief, they end up at a blessedly unassuming little power boat---smaller than the sailboat he took to Italy. It's thirty years old if it's a day, but it's clean and seems to be well-maintained. Her name, in blue letters just slightly faded, is the _Tea Party_.

"You bought this for the name, didn't you?" Will asks.

"It wasn't a deterrent," Hannibal admits, and tosses him the keys.

Below decks, the boat shows more signs of age than the exterior, but the galley is stocked with non-perishable goods and there is, indeed, a cast iron pot waiting for them.

"I was thinking we might try Argentina next," Hannibal says, coming up behind him to pull him into an embrace.

"This is a pretty small boat for that long a trip," Will says.

"Too small?" Hannibal asks.

Will opens the door that leads to the berth at the bow. It's not much wider than a camping cot with a mattress on it. He and Hannibal will practically have to sleep to sleep on top of one another.

"Not too small at all," he says, turning around to kiss his shipmate. "In fact, it's _perfect_."

 

 

_**The End** _

 

 

 

 


End file.
